


The One and Only

by Dana



Series: Without You, What Would I Be? [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Car Sex, Connor is a little shit and Hank loves him with all his heart, Established Relationship, I'm hopelessly in love with these two and they make me feel alive, M/M, Not Beta Read, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Game, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Should have been a PWP but it has way too much plot, fluff and smut i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 13:44:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15341115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: Connor decides, on the drive back to the station, that he enjoys it when Hank teases him at work, and now he would like to tease Hank as well.





	The One and Only

**Author's Note:**

> These two continue to consume every waking hour of my day. This story was supposed to be that shameless PWP I mentioned before, but I'm no good at PWP because plot and feels love to get in the way.

Even for an android with a processor as powerful as the one Connor possessed, he was still unable to pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with Hank Anderson. Hopelessly in love. It was confusing, and at times, it was very messy, and often overwhelming – there was nothing simple about being able to _feel_. There were even times that Connor wished he didn't have to feel these things any more, because life without feeling was infinitely less complex. Even though CyberLife had previously controlled him and his very reason for being, he had been wandering, lost, trapped in his own programming – somewhat like a boat that had been cut loose from its moorings, cast adrift, yet boxed in some how and unable to roam free. Hank had guided him, whether meaning to or not. Guided him home.

Home.

 _Love_.

It could have happened at any given point in time, and he didn't quite understand what he was at first getting himself into. Unlike other androids, who'd went deviant more naturally from sudden emotional shock, or had been converted by Markus (or even, himself), Connor had deviated from the norm; the software instabilities that had plagued him through out his investigation into the deviants had seemed a curse at first, but had turned into a blessing. Yes, again, it was Markus who gave him that final nudge, asking him who he was, letting him know it was time he asked himself that question. But it was Hank who had been a constant throughout, Hank who had said one thing (that he hated androids) and did another (he'd treated Connor as though he was more than a machine). Hank who had been there for him as the walls of his reality began crumbling into ruin – Hank, who had welcomed him into his home with open arms.

Not that Connor had all that much experience with humans, he still new that Hank was his favorite. No one treated him with the care that Hank showed him. No other human made him feel anything even close to what Hank did. As much as Hank would deny it, and tell Connor he was wrong, Hank was a gift, precious. A gift like no other. A love that would never end.

And as much as he loved Hank, Hank also loved _him_.

Returning to work, Connor had been greeted with some enthusiasm – mostly from Chris, though Captain Fowler had also seemed pleased to have him back. He supposed that might have had something to do now that the DPD was as unmanned as it was – they had, after all, lost a large percentage of their workforce in the wake of the revolution. Connor being there meant that it would lessen some of the burden on his human officers' shoulders.

Still, it was a warm welcome and Connor was glad to have returned – now, with a badge in hand, he was a true officer of the law. He was very much needed. Since the revolution, it wasn't as though crimes against androids had gone down – they had gone up, exponentially so. Only, now it was a much more serious offence than simple damage to private property.

There had been something had been missing as he existed in that pleasant limbo that was Hank Anderson's house, enjoying his days with Sumo and the tasks he set himself to give himself a sense of purpose – something that went beyond, and deeper, than missing Hank (but that was a big enough part of the whole). While he was no longer hunting deviants for CyberLife's benefit, this was what he was made for, criminal investigation. He'd missed it, too – the adrenaline, the thrill of the chase. The satisfaction of a job well done, doing all he could to see that the mission was a success.

Hank's happiness was his primary directive, yes, but he was allowed to find some comfort and joy in his chosen career. Still, while less than a week had passed since Connor's return, Hank's happiness seemed much higher than on average than as Connor had witnessed in the past.

Connor delighted in knowing he was a direct cause of that change.

Though he was able to run multiple processes simultaneously without negatively impacting his systems, unless it was necessity dictated by work, the seriousness of a crime scene, he'd found he'd rather focus his full attention on Hank. The section of his memory dedicated to all things Hank – from their very first meeting, to their last kiss before leaving for work that morning, to the live feed he was currently taking in of Hank sat across from him at his own desk – was now more than 500GB. There were of course subsections – Connor was nothing if not organized.

The station had changed in some ways, but remained stoically the same in others. There were of course fewer androids, though Connor felt certain that more would return soon now that it was legally for them to be gainfully employed. On the other hand, Gavin Reed was still as unpleasant as ever, mocking Connor verbally without making any overtly violent gestures as he'd tended to before – his teasing about Connor and Hank's relationship hit far too close to home, but Hank was a private man and Connor found he was too. It was none of Reed's business what they got up to in the privacy of Hank's home, _their_ home, not that Hank had made any grand proclamations besides mentioning a couple of times that Connor had no where else to go so why not? That too was none of their co-worker's business.

On the other, other hand, perhaps Reed's nastiness was rooted in resentment – from what Hank had told him, they'd often been paired while Connor had been unable to work. As Hank was generally in a better mood because of time spent with Connor, and the things Connor did to make his life easier, that happiness had no doubt rubbed Reed the wrong way.

It was good to be back, even better knowing each morning he'd be arriving with Hank, and returning home with him at the end of their shift; climbing into bed with him at night, and waking with him the next day. Then Connor could make Hank a healthful dinner, and they could kiss, or touch, or do whatever else they wanted to. See, Connor had not yet stopped trying to instil Hank with better habits. Because of Hank's touch, and knowing how good it was, how better it could get, Connor felt his deviation taking him further and further. Perhaps some of Hank's bad habits were rubbing off on him.

Love...

 _Home_.

Home was a giddy concept, now that Connor was capable of actual giddiness. What once had been yet one more foreign concept, he was now _intimately_ acquainted with it. Some extra emphasis was definitely required.

'Hey, Connor.'

'Hrm – yes, Lieutenant?'

'What's got you zoning out today? Your night light's been stuck on yellow for the last ten minutes.'

'Oh.' Connor feels the temperature rising in his face – embarrassment at having been caught in the act. The skin of his synthetic cheeks tint a pale pink, and he gives a hopeless shrug. 'It's nothing.'

Hank doesn't seem to believe him. He turns his chair, rests his elbows on the table as he leans forward, leering at him. Connor, both disliking (further embarrassment) and liking (because it's _Hank_ ) the feelings it stirs in him – what a strange, if not thoroughly unpleasant, sensation – looks aside as Hank raises an eyebrow at him.

'So nothing's got you blushing, almost squirming in your seat?'

That was one of the looks Hank would give him before touching him, or taking him in his mouth, or pushing into him with his cock. Connor flushes harder as he gives another shrug, though he knows his LED betrays him as it continues to cycle yellow. He hazards a look around the room the old fashioned way, though he's already aware of the occupants – Chris is at his desk, busily typing a report, periodically taking drinks of his coffee; Captain Fowler is in his office, shouting into the phone. Reed had headed towards the bathrooms some time earlier, and as of yet had not reappeared.

He tilts his head back so he's looking at Hank, analyzing him without meaning to.

 **Temperature:** 97.8%  
**BPM:** 65  
**BAL:** 0%

Nothing seems out of the ordinary, not even his stress level (he takes particular pride in Hank's blood alcohol level, knowing how he struggles; yet as Hank has been his constant, Connor shall continue to be his), but Connor hesitates as he lifts brown eyes to meet the blue of Hank's. Hank's not one for teasing him in public – as Hank has learned, when he pushes, Connor pushes back. Despite his seeming proficiency at casually touching Connor throughout the day, he's adamantly opposed to what humans deemed Public Displays of Affection.

No, they save those for home.

Because it's either Connor believes that, or else Hank is somehow ashamed of him. And – no.

No, it isn't that.

Second go by, like minutes for Connor. Very softly, he says: 'I was thinking about how good it feels to wake up with you in the morning.'

Now it's Hank's turn to blush. His temperature raises minutely as his face goes ruddy, while Connor keeps his face carefully neutral. 'Ah,' he says, tongue flicking out to slide across his lips – with a pang like a jolt to his systems, Connor is sorely tempted to drag him somewhere discreet and kiss him so hard even Connor would forget he doesn't need to breathe. 'Right.'

Reed, passing by as he made his way back into the room, on the way to his desk, makes a sound of disgust as he scowls at them. 'Fucking hell, you two, just get a room already. Oh wait, the plastic prick's been living with you for more than half a year already – I bet that's exactly what you do.'

Hank and Connor both scowl at him, not that he's bothered by either scathing gaze. They are, in general, very careful at work, and it can't be helped that Reed is an immature jerk with nothing better to do with his time. Reed is the only one who _knows_ , not that they've gone so far as to verify his claims.

Not that they will.

Only…

Sometimes, Connor would like to. He wants the whole entire precinct to know just how much he loves Lieutenant Hank Anderson. No, make that the world.

Hank sighs. Connor slants a look at him as he turns his chair round until he's facing his terminal. He squints at it, shaking his head. 'Come on then, looks like we've had a witness step forward in the case from this morning; it's the one who originally called in to 911. Don't know what made her change her mind, but now she's willing to talk.'

Connor nods decisively. 'Well, let's get to work.'

–  
–

The witness in question is a woman by the name of Catherine Frank, with green eyes and gray in her brown hair; married twice and divorced both times, with no criminal record. She lives opposite the victim in a reasonably sized apartment, with one bedroom, one-and-a-half bathrooms, and (after Connor quickly scans the environment and having to sort through the analysis of various different types of fur), seven different cats. Connor's never spent much time around cats, but quickly finds that he likes them – perhaps not as much as he likes Sumo.

The crime scene, right across the hall, is burned into Connor's memory with all of its brutality – there was blood everywhere in the living room, blood that Connor had quickly been able to place as belonging to the victim. Hank had grimaced at him in disgust, still not liking it when Connor stuck evidence in his mouth.

It had been incredibly easy to reconstruct the scene of the attack, but even then Connor hadn't been able to answer all of their questions. They were still looking for a motive, as well as what might have brought the AP400 to the victim's apartment in the first place – perhaps it was a burglary gone wrong? The victim, Peter Martin, had never owned an android, even before the revolution, and the neighbors who had been interviewed already all claimed that he was quite the recluse.

Catherine offers the Lieutenant coffee or tea (he accepts the coffee), and shrugs helplessly at Connor. 'Is there anything I could get you, dear?'

He shakes his head as he smiles. 'I'm quite alright, but thank you.'

They sit together in the living room while Catherine puts the coffee on to brew. A few of the cats come close to sniff at the visitors, but Hank pays them no heed as he slouches into the couch. One bold cat, sleek and black with a long, tapered tail, rubs up against Connor's leg and butts its head against his calf and begins to purr.

Connor stares at Hank in confusion.

'I guess it likes how you smell or something. The beast is demanding pets.'

'Oh,' Connor replies, reaching down to scritch his fingers through the soft fur atop the black cat's head. The cat responds with a pleased chirrup, knocking its head against Connor's head and then twining about his legs, purring even louder than before. It jumps up onto the couch beside him, putting a paw onto his knee. Connor continues to pet it, and the cat continues to delight in the attention.

As Catherine enters the room, she smiles at the two officers. 'Oh, that's my darling boy Bastian. He seems to like you.'

She offers Hank his coffee, as well as some cookies on a platter, before sitting down in a plush chair opposite them, one with a garish sort of patterning that makes Connor think of Hank's shirts. There's a long coffee table in between them now, covered in various doilies and knick knacks, most of them feline-related. 'So, how can I help you, officers?'

As he continues to pet the cat, enjoying the softness of its fur, Connor begins to interview their witness. 'You say you were awake when Martin started shouting with the android who ended up attacking him; that you heard it escalate into from a shouting match into a proper fight. Tell us what you heard.'

'Oh, yes, well…' she begins. 'I'd been up quite early that morning, and I've never had any trouble with noise from Peter. He was quite the recluse, after all.'

'Yes,' Hank grits out, 'so we've been told.'

'Well, I was feeding the cats, as one does, when I heard the commotion – I went to the front door and peered out the peep-hole, they really were causing quite the ruckus.'

That, too, followed along with what they already knew.

'Go on,' Connor urges her. The cat hops down off of his lap, and goes to rub up against its owner's leg.

'Well, the door was quickly thrown open and Peter tried rushing into the hall – but his attacker, ah, the android, he grabbed Peter by the shoulder and yanked him back into the apartment, slamming the door behind them.'

Connor nods. Following the trail of blood about the living room to the front hall, that went along with what he was able to reconstruct. There'd been no traces of thirium – even if the victim had tried to defend himself, he'd been unable to do so with any effectiveness.

'And you knew he was an android because…?'

'Well,' Catherine shrugs. She's staring at Connor now, though she doesn't look afraid, merely curious. 'Not too many of you continue to wear your LEDs now that you've been granted personhood.'

That, Connor knew, was true. Sometimes, he wasn't even sure he knew why he kept it – at times, it seemed like more of a bother than it was worth. But, it was still him...

'Anything else?' Hank huffs.

Catherine nods. 'After that, I made sure my door was locked securely.' She took a small sip of her tea, and set the cup down gently on its saucer. 'Then I went to call the police. I heard nothing else after that.'

Connor turns to face Hank, who's already frowning. Connor's LED cycles yellow as he processes what he's heard, before returning to yellow. 'Well, thanks for your time and all.' Hank says, starting to rise. Connor nods, and follows after, standing as well.

'If there's anything else we need from you, we'll let you know.' Not that Connor thinks it will end up being necessary, and he's sure that Hank will agree.

'Thank you, officers,' Catherine smiles. 'Please, I do hope to have been some help.'

Hank's heading to the front door already – he hadn't even finished his coffee, though he'd made quite an impression in the cookies, having eaten more than half of them. 'You have been – thank you, ma'am.'

Catherine follows after Connor as he heads to the front door. Hank's gone out into the hallway already, and having a pet of his own, knew to shut the door behind him as he left.

Bastian, the cat from before, rubs up against Connor's again as he stands in the front hall, twining around his legs. Connor drops down with a smile on his face, and gives that cat a few more scritches on the top of his head, stroking his hand back through soft black fur.

Catherine chuckles. 'He does really seem charmed with you, officer.'

'I guess I have a way with animals,' Connor replies, thinking of how much Sumo adores him (and how much he loves the Saint Bernard, in return) as Bastian butts his head against Connor's hand, demanding to be petted.

–  
–

'Well,' Hank sighs, 'that was a waste of fucking time.'

'Cheer up, Hank – it was good to get out of the office for a while, don't you think?' Still, Connor sighs. 'It's not like she would have known she wasn't telling us anything we didn't already know.'

'Guess we can blame you for that, eh?' Hank grins and nudges his arm against Connor's. 'State of the fucking art, that's what you are.'

'Yeah, well, you have a point there.' Connor smiles, feeling pride at Hank's words, a swell of heat. How far they had come, since Hank had first been unwillingly partnered with him.

Connor glances at the door across the hallway, still with it's line of holographic police tape. 'Should we take another look at the crime scene?' They were still missing so much – motive, as well as any sign of the suspect, who had seemingly vanished into thin air (well, actually, he had likely gone out through the balcony, seeing as it had been left open).

Hank quickly shakes his head. 'Don't see the point, Connor. Come on, let's go. I feel like doing something useful or, you know, taking a nap.' He heaves a heavy sigh of his own, irritation in his voice. 'Guess this dead end means we're gonna have to go back to the drawing board.'

Connor nods, falling into step beside him.

–  
–

Connor decides, on the drive back to the station, that he enjoys it when Hank teases him at work, and now he would like to tease Hank as well. His LED flickers yellow as Hank drives, only one hand on the steering wheel as he keeps his eyes on the road. Knights of the Black Death is blaring on the radio, bass causing the entire vehicle to throb and boom; since going deviant, he's found he does actually like music, and beyond what Hank has introduced him to – heavy metal, as well as his favorite jazz – Connor had found himself with quite the eclectic taste in music, since he'd picked up some other favorites of his own. Connor switches the radio off, and Hank grimaces.

'What was that for?'

He gives Hank a cursory glance, checks his temperature, his BPM, his stress levels – again, nothing out of the ordinary, though Connor would of course continue to track his vitals in case he found it necessary to stop.

'Hank, please, could you take the next right?'

Hank side eyes him, only now he looks confused. 'What for?'

Connor smiles, as calmingly as possible. He was, after all, made for that work. 'Trust me.'

Hank gives a decisive nod of his head (and why not? Connor's not led him astray so far).

So he takes that right, and the left that follows, wordlessly following Connor's orders (and isn't that a thrill). That's no surprise at all. Hank is, if anything, attentive as a partner and a friend, a lover. He takes Connor's consideration into account more than he does his own, but he also has very low self esteem and still can't quite wrap his head around how Connor wants _him_. Silly, wonderful Hank – Connor could want no one else.

They both, in their own way, like to be praised.

They park in an alcove at the end of a line of twisting, ever narrowing streets. In fact, Connor will likely have to take the wheel to get them out of it – he's got much better reflexes as an android, obviously, though Hank does prefer to drive.

'What now?' Hank's voice is low, a little rough. Connor checks him – his BPM has shot up by more than 20, just at 80. He's slightly warmer, but nothing to be overly concerned with.

'It's a pity that our witness had nothing new to add to the investigation.'

'Well, that's just the way the cookie crumbles, Connor – you don't always get what you want.'

'Hrm.' His LED blinks yellow several times before settling back on blue, and Connor smiles at him, choosing to change the subject. 'If it's alright with you, I'd like to try something different today, Hank.'

Hank. He loves saying his name, knows Hank likes it too, and he definitely loves it when Hank calls him by his own. He loves Hank, he does. Every little piece of himself that Hank despises, Connor loves it. Loves it more. Because it is another piece of what makes Hank, Hank.

Hank's staring at him, a slow flush creeping up from his neck. Minutes pass by like years. 'If you're asking me what I think you are, you seriously over-estimate my flexibility.'

'I enjoy sharing these new experiences with you, Lieutenant. I have full faith in your ability to perform.'

' _Connor_.'

'Hank, please.'

'...why?'

'Why not?'

'What did I tell you about answering a question with another question?'

'I've no idea what you're talking about, Hank. I'm sure you've never mentioned it before.'

'Ha. Just… come on, tell me why? Humor me, for fuck's sake – '

'Well, fucking is what I'd like to do – in the back seat, preferably. I think you'll find it comfortable enough, and my own flexibility will more than adequately make up for your own.'

'Shit – I seriously doubt you're all that fucking worried about my comfort.'

'Hank, I worry – '

'Yeah, yeah. I just – it's daytime out. Someone could see us…'

'Someone could, which is why I suggest we hurry.'

' _Connor_.'

'Please, Hank. I want to feel you inside me.'

'Fucking hell.'

'There's no need to worry, Lieutenant. We made good time with our interview, I say we deserve a reward.'

'Connor. Fuck. Okay.' See, between a rock and a hard place, Hank knew what decision to make. As Connor smirks, Hank's mouth twitches into one of its own. 'Treat yo self.'

'Yes,' Connor says, with some bemusement (it's probably another reference that's before his time – Hank seems incredibly fond of those, sometimes choosing to make them without any sort of provocation). 'Exactly that.'

And now, Hank's sat in the middle of the back seat, in just his shirt and boxers, with Connor sitting on his lap. Connor quickly unbuttons Hank's shirt (they haven't got forever, after all, though that hadn't stopped Connor from shedding his own clothing and folding it neatly – he's in his tight boxer briefs and his sock garters, now, and nothing else). He gently, then firmly, strokes Hank's chest with naked hands, synthetic skin peeled back and showing the white of his chassis. 'I know you find it difficult to believe, but I'll never stop telling you that I think you're beautiful. I love you, Hank. I'll never stop loving you.'

Hank lifts his hands up to cover his face as he blushes even harder, warmth radiating off of him. 'Fuck, Connor.'

Connor gently pulls Hank's hands away.

'Please, Hank. We haven't got all day.'

Hank groans beneath him as Connor kisses him, stroking his chest, down and down again, running his fingers through the hair on his belly. He loves the feel of Hank's body, giving and soft in places and hard and unmovable in others. Connor's hands dip lower, teasing at the edge of his boxers.

' _Connor_ ,' Hank gasps, pulling away, breathing hard.

He slides his hands down Hank's arms to his wrists, gripping him tightly – but not too tight. Hank gazes at him, quizzically but clearly into it, as Connor presses his arms back to the seat, keeping them pinned in place with no effort at all. Though Hank does struggle – just to see what he's up against, Connor reckons – he tilts his head back and groans into Connor's mouth as he kisses him. He likes kissing, likes kissing Hank (he's much better now than when he first started). And Hank definitely does seem to like kissing him, doing so with a messy sort of enthusiasm.

The sunlight streaming in through the back window is warm on Connor's skin, warmer even than Hank. He lets his mouth drop down to the curve of mouth and shoulder, sucking at Hank's skin, biting (but not too hard, at least, not where anyone could _see_ ). The little noises Hank makes are syrupy sweet to Connor's ears, and he wishes for more of them, now. He grinds slowly, rubbing their clothed erections together, and Hank lets out a particularly helpless sounding moan.

Connor smiles at him as he draws back, licking at his lips. Hank blinks at him, slowly, mouth agape as he stares. Connor's lowered one hand back down to Hank's stomach, petting him – the other is keeping the both of his arms secure above his head.

Hank tries to wriggle free, but. Sometimes, Hank forgets how effortlessly Connor can hold him down.

'Is this okay?'

Hank nods, eyes heavily lidded, and Connor leans in to nip at his lips. Hank tilts his head and Connor licks his way into it, and Hank groans, and Connor does too, feeling the hum of it reverberate through him. His free hand drops lower, back to teasing at the loose edge of Hank's boxers. Stroking his thigh, tugging his boxers up, but absolutely avoiding putting any direct pressure on his erection.

'You fucking shit,' Hank growls, but there's no heat to his words.

Connor smiles, tilting his head.

'I think you lied about us having to hurry – you're definitely taking too much fucking _time_.' He groans as Connor finally rubs his palm across the all too distinct bulge in his boxers, Hank's body tensing beneath him. 'Connor, please, you're killing me. Get on with it – ah, _fuck_.'

Connor squeezes, again, lowering his mouth to Hank's, kissing him as he moans. He shifts some, slides his hands into Hank's shorts, stroking the heated, engorged flesh that he finds waiting. Hank bucks up into his hand, restless already, already leaking pre-come. His head tilts back and Connor takes that as his chance to nuzzle, and lick, and kiss, and bite at his neck – pausing to see how Hank reacts, to record it for posterity. 'I love you like this.'

'Connor, please, have a heart,' Hank whispers, his eyes blown out, wide and dark. 'Please – '

'Lieutenant,' Connor murmurs, licking a line from throat to jaw, nuzzling into his beard. 'I think I like it when you beg.' This is not, perhaps, the best time to investigate further, but Connor has always been curious, and Hank has always been willing.

Hank's dick twitches in his hand, silken and hard and slick. Hank curses as Connor leans back, studying his face intently, every one of his micro-expressions, each slight twitch – Hank is making it sound like he hates it, the waiting, the teasing, but based on the deeper evidence, as it's been presented, Hank is into it as he's rarely into little else.

Connor gives him another squeeze, at his dick, at his wrists. 'What is it, Hank? Don't you want me to continue?'

'Of fucking course I do,' Hank gasps, panting hard. 

'Then ask very nicely, and I'll consider giving you what you want.'

'Jesus Christ. Connor.' A number of emotions flicker across his face, none for very long, settling on pink-cheeked, unabashed longing. 'Just do it.'

'That's not good enough, Lieutenant.'

'Ahh – fuck. Just – _please_ , Connor, please. I want to be inside you already. Just thinking about how wet you are…'

Connor shivers, letting his eyes fall shut as he tugs harder on Hank's erection; Hank's voice is so low, and the way he's whispered those words have sent a rush of sweet warmth throughout all of Connor's systems. The pre-come still leaking from the tip of Hank's erection continues to ease the friction as he strokes him, and as he lets go of Hank's wrists to lower his hand to cup his cheek, he says just as softly. 'Keep your hands to yourself, Lieutenant.'

Hank gnashes his teeth together in frustration, but he bucks helplessly as Connor gives him a firm squeeze. Lifting himself up, he quickly deals with Hank's boxers, tugging them down to reveal his flushed erection, slick and ruddy and beautiful. He lifts a leg up carefully to rid himself of his own boxer briefs, becoming suddenly impatient as the garment is left hanging around his ankle. He leans forward so their noses are almost touching, Hank's eyes shut as his head tips back, struggling to keep his breath even as Connor keeps him in hand, lowers himself down and feeling as the head of Head's cock begins nudging its way inside.

Hank's eyes snapped open. Connor rearranges his hands, one at Hank's neck, the other against his check. Hank's own hands are grabbing onto the cushions, anywhere other than Connor. Connor eases down – it's the sensation of being pleasantly _full_ , it never gets old, not that Connor believes they've done it even nearly enough – as warnings begin flashing in front of his eyes. He closes them with a thought as more and more of them appear – Hank's fingers scrabble at the cushions and Connor has pity on him, licking at his neck.

'You can touch me now, Hank.'

Hank lets out a breath of relief, taking Connor's face in his hands and kissing him, hard. Connor groans at the slick slide of Hank's tongue in his mouth, opens himself up to him completely.

He's bottomed out, taken in all of Hank's hard length. Connor shifts, just slightly, and Hank nudges up against the bundle of wires inside him that make stars spark, raw binary creeping across his field of vision. He's warmer already, his core temperature beginning to rise as he does what he was never programmed to do. And he lifts himself up, until Hank's almost out of him, before dropping himself back down. Hank breaks away from him, breathing heavily, nostrils flaring. He scrabbles for purchase on Connor's body as Connor rides him, hard. More warnings flicker into his view, so many of them that he stops worrying about sending them away. He knows his LED is flickering from yellow, to red, and back again, staying on red as his internal fans come on as he steadily continues to overheat.

And he loves it; since discovering sex, it's become one of his favorite things to do, especially since he gets to do it with Hank. He loves how big Hank feels inside him, how he stretches him so wide. He makes Connor feel so good, and oh, Connor wants Hank to feel the same things.

Perhaps…

'Connor, Jesus, Connor – '

He lets out a ragged cry as Hank bumps into that bundle of wires again, and he shudders all over as he registers the sensation as oncoming orgasm approaches. 'I-I'm c-comi-' he begins, stuttering weakly. He drops a hand down to cover his bobbing erection as he comes, ejaculating onto his hand alone. (One thing that had convinced Hank to give into him was, he wouldn't get messy.)

His rocking slows as his fans whirl harder. It's incredibly difficult to see, with the warning errors flashing all over his line of sight, with the back cab of the car spinning around him, the air steamy and thick with the scent of sex, semen, and sweat. It's Hank who grounds him as he begins to rebuild his rhythm, softer, but steadier, Hank who takes him by the wrist and lifts his messy hand to his mouth.

Hank's tongue flicks across his palm, swiping at artificial semen, and Connor trembles, groaning out his name. 'H-Hank – '

Hank's flutter shut as he thrusts up, as Connor drops down, continue to lick at Connor's hand. Connor senses the synthetic flesh peeling back of its own accord, leaving his hand bare, pulsing with soft blue, as Hank licks him clean. More of his skin fades, all down his arm, his legs against Hank's where they come together again and again.

'That's it, Connor. That's it.' There's sweat rolling down his brow and his face, down his neck, and Connor leans forward, getting his arm caught up between their chests as he samples the sweat on Hank's cheek: ammonia, urea, salts and water. More of the things that make Hank, Hank.

He's hard again all ready, his cock leaving wet streaks against Hank's belly. Hank's panting, his eyelashes are fluttering. 'Connor, Connor, I'm c-close, I'm gonna – '

Connor picks up the pace, bearing down on him, smiling as he kisses him, a body that doesn't need air burning as though he's completely out of oxygen. Hank throws his head back and drops his hand to clutch at Connor's hip, dragging him back down into his own weaker thrusts as Connor continues to ride him; pressing at him, and pressing harder. He gives a small, harsh cry, as he comes, shuddering as he fills Connor up. 'Connor!'

Connor twitches all over, this time coming all over Hank's stomach (he hadn't been able to even _think_ to catch it). He slumps against him weakly, exhaustedly begins to flick away the warning errors that are taking up too much room, his vision dimming considerably as his systems battle against the need for a reboot. Hank's breathing hard beneath him, rubbing one hand up and down the bare white length of Connor's back, the other limply cast to the side as he catches his breath, fingers twitching. There's no words for how it makes him feel, knowing that Hank accepts him as who he is, his hand hot against Connor's chassis.

See, Hank isn't ashamed of him, he couldn't be.

Connor quickly analyzes him to make sure all is within normal parameters (it is). His breathing is well under control now, and his BPM is quickly dropping into its usual range. Still hot, but it's steaming inside the back of the car. Connor considers rolling a window down, only, he doesn't want to move.

There's humor in his voice as Hank asks, 'Didn't fuck you into needing a reboot that time, huh?'

Connor smirks as he blushes, emotions still battling it out. 'The angle was not, perhaps, as optimal.'

'Huh. Guess I'll have to try harder next time.'

And in between them, the warmth of Connor's release.

Hank opens one of his eyes. The color on his cheek is mesmerizing, dark red, and Connor pets his sweaty chest with one naked hand, strokes his fingers through the scratchy scruff of his beard with the other, leaning in and shifting so he still feels Hank, softening inside of him, as well as all that damp, pleasant heat. 

'Thought you said there'd be no mess?'

Connor grins, leaning in closer, nuzzling at his lips as the rest of his skin fades away. 'Don't worry, Lieutenant, I'll clean it right up.'

–  
–

After cleaning up the mess he'd made, and both of them getting dressed, Connor suggests they stop by Chicken Feed before they return to the station (it is, Connor states, now time for their daily allotted lunch break – not that Connor will do any of the eating). Hank still looks a little flushed, but the cool spring day quickly refreshes him. Hank smiles at him between bites and drinks of his soda, and Connor smiles back at him. He'd like to treat Hank to a meal somewhere, sometime soon, perhaps – it won't be long and then he'll be bringing home his first pay check.

Not that he doesn't enjoy cooking for him, of course. But it would be… nice, yes, very nice, for both of them to get dressed up and go out together. For Connor to wear some of the clothing other than what he wears to work, or the things he's borrowed from Hank that are far more comfortable than anything he actually owns. For Hank to eat something delicious, and for Connor to enjoy his company the way he enjoys nothing else.

Processing, processing… Hank's voice, a little dry in its amusement, breaks into his thoughts: 'So tell me, Connor, what new, devious plans are you busy concocting?'

Connor laughs, a little helplessly. 'Nothing as ominous as that, Lieutenant.'

'But am I going to like it?' If Hank's got anything to go on so far, not that he hoards information the way Connor does, it's that Connor's ideas, whether sudden or planned at length for months, do tend to lead to him having a pleasant time of it.

'Yes, Lieutenant. My preliminary preconstruction attempts indicate that you have a 79.9% of having a good time.'

'79.9%?' Hank whistles, low, still amused. 'Well sign me the fuck up.'

–  
–

They return to the precinct much as they always do, side by side. Connor asks Hank if he would like a cup of coffee. Hank nods, and mumbles his thanks at him, propping his arm up on the edge of his desk, leaning his cheek into it. There's still four hours before they'll be going home, and if Hank is to get any more work done, then he definitely needs to perk up. And there's definitely plenty of work that needs to be done, though Connor knows he can manage most of it on his own – maybe Hank lets him get away with taking care of him at home, but while they're at work, Hank likes to pull his own weight.

Reed is in the break room as Connor enters it. Giving the human detective a neutral smile, Connor heads over to the coffee machine to begin making a fresh pot. He hears Reed's cup hit the table with a heavy _thunk_ , the sound of his footsteps heavy in the otherwise empty room. The heat of Reed's breath against the shell of his ear, against his cheek, as he leans far into the bubble of Connor's personal space.

'So,' Reed says, and he's so close now, Connor can hear him licking at his dry lips. 'Be honest with me for once, you plastic asshole – what's it like, when Hank's – you know – fucking your robotic brains out?'

Connor straightens up, bumping into Reed and sending him stumbling back several steps. Adjusting his tie, Connor turns, taking a step towards him, LED flashing yellow before returning to blue. 'Oh, I bet you really would like to know, wouldn't you, _Gavin_?'

Now Connor's leaning into Reed's personal space, and as his BPM increases, his temperature shoots up, a blush explodes across his cheeks as he struggles to keep his cool (he fails). 'I – I…'

Connor had never, _ever_ , come so close as to suggesting that he and Hank were actually a _thing_ (as the humans would put it). 'And if I hear any further gossip about us, please believe me, I'll have no trouble at all making sure everyone one of our co-workers know just what sort of things show up in your browser history. Tsk, tsk, Detective Reed. And while you're at _work_.'

Reed blinks, blinks again, taking a step away from him and squaring his shoulders, rising to his full height. 'You don't scare me,' he mutters, but Connor's processors are aware of every single one of his micro-expressions – even if he isn't _afraid_ , the possibility of Reed saying anything has shot down into the red, nearing on the impossible.

With a scowl, he snatches his mug up off the table, and stomps out of the break room back towards his desk.

Connor smiles, and turns back to preparing Hank's coffee.

**Author's Note:**

> That's um, all I guess, hope you all like it. Gonna bury myself in the backyard again, good day to you all!


End file.
